


Blank Slate

by sesheta_66



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Auror Harry Potter, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Fake/Pretend Relationship, M/M, Memory Loss
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-06
Updated: 2019-07-06
Packaged: 2020-06-22 06:12:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 16,188
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19661470
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sesheta_66/pseuds/sesheta_66
Summary: When Harry’s disregard for the chain of command results in his ousting from the Aurors, he decides to open up his own private investigation firm.  When Narcissa Malfoy goes missing and the Aurors do little but go through the motions, Draco finds himself at Harry’s door.  While Harry takes the case, he’s not above using the circumstances to his own advantage.





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

  * For [lalielolo](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lalielolo/gifts).



> As soon as I saw your prompts, I just had to scoop the Harry PI one up! I had so much fun going on this journey with the boys. Thanks for supporting our fandom and I hope you enjoy reading it half as much as I enjoyed writing it. *glomps*

"Potter! In my office," Robards bellowed over the Auror cubicles as he strode with purpose through the space. "Now!"

"Somebody’s in shit," sniggered Marsterson, the smarmy little kiss-arse.

Harry gave him a two-fingered salute. "Yeah, yeah. Big deal. He’ll threaten to suspend me, I’ll promise not to do it again, I’ll take the rest of the day off and come back tomorrow, properly chastised."

"You know, one of these days, Potter, that name and that scar aren’t going to be enough."

"Yeah, yeah. Tell someone who cares."

"Fucking cocksure bastard. Always getting away with everything," Marsterson grumbled. It wasn’t a lie. Harry had the backing of Kingsley and most of the wizarding world who, for reasons only known to themselves, still swooned over Harry. Frankly, he’d rather they not. 

He took his time making his way to Robards’ office. He hadn’t come up with a reasonable excuse yet for breaking the rules. Again. After being told, in no uncertain terms, that the next time would be the last time he blatantly ignored orders.

But what was he supposed to do? Let the criminal get away? He knew perfectly well they needed to build a case and follow protocol. No unsanctioned monitoring of private citizens. But they all knew he was guilty as sin. They knew he’d been in disguise and how the bloody hell else were they supposed to prove that he was who they knew he was and not who he claimed to be, if they didn’t monitor him and his residence for his magical signature? They couldn’t. And he’d get away. Again. Like he had so many times before. Fuck if Harry was going to let that happen on his watch.

Well, he hadn’t meant to, anyway. The little fucker got away anyway. Though not through any fault of Harry’s own. That smarmy little shit Marsterson had gone slinking off to Robards and told him what he’d overheard. Harry scratched the back of his neck. That hadn’t been the smartest move he’d ever made. He knew the little prick was out to get him sacked and Harry hadn’t managed to keep his own mouth shut — or cast a Muffliato or some other charm — to prevent himself being heard. And now — caught out on his blatant disregard for Robard’s (or any one else’s, save Kingsley’s) authority — Harry had to come up with some excuse worthy of a swift and meaningless reprimand so Harry could get back to work. Probably tomorrow. He thought about what Marsterson had overheard. Maybe the next day.

"Yeah, boss?" Harry said as he peeked his head into Robards’ office but didn’t quite step inside.

"Come in and close the door."

Harry did as asked. "You wanted to see me?"

"What cases are you working on?"

Taken a bit by surprise, it took Harry a few minutes to rhyme off the three active, two active but awaiting trial and six simmering with no action but not yet closed cases currently assigned to him.

"Right, then. Go home. I’ll send on your things. Don’t bother coming back."

Harry laughed. "Good one. Seriously, though. What did you —"

Robards stood up and, leaning over his desk, he looked Harry straight in the eye. "You’re fired. Even Kingsley isn’t getting you out of this one."

"What?"

"You. Are. Fired. We cannot operate our Auror Division with some wildcard going rogue and completely disrespecting the chain of command at the drop of a hat. It’s one thing to bend the rules and find loopholes in protocol, but it’s quite another to flaunt your utter contempt for anything remotely resembling authority. I’ve had it with you and so has most of this squad. You create dissent in the ranks and no one — not a single commanding officer in the place — wants to deal with you. So you’re out. Done. Finished."

"But —"

"Leave the badge and your ID and get out. Don’t let the door hit you in the arse on your way out."

Harry pulled out his wallet and dropped the documents — the Auror badge he’d worked his arse off for and the ID that granted him access to the Ministry — onto Robards’ desk. In a haze, he watched his boss — ex-boss — slip them into the drawer of his desk, a slight grin on his face. The bastard was enjoying this. Well, Harry wasn’t about to give the arseholes outside a show. Mustering all the strength he could, he held his head up high, opened the door and strutted out of Auror headquarters as he had on so many other occasions. Only this time would be his last.


	2. Surveillance

THREE YEARS LATER ...

Harry slipped into his office at quarter past ten and fired up his computer. It had been three years to the day since he’d been unceremoniously dismissed from the Aurors and he’d decided to celebrate with a lie-in and a large latte with cinnamon and extra sugar this morning. A pastry turned it into breakfast and he grinned as he bit into it. 

He looked around the office and couldn’t help but be proud of what he’d made of his life. He’d been handed a gift, really, and had made the most of it. Sure, it had burned, being ousted like that, after all he’d done. He’d spent a good few months wallowing in the injustice of it all, drinking himself into oblivion to dull the feeling of worthlessness he’d discovered when he no longer had a clear purpose. But then Hermione had strode out of his Floo at the crack of dawn one Sunday, thrust a vial of hangover potion into his hand and ordered him to meet her in his kitchen.

He still chuckled at the memory of it. She’d been furious with him and scared for him at the same time. She’d filled him with caffeine and carbs and then had given him _The Look._ The one that said, "I’m here to talk and you will sit there and listen. Really listen. And if I have to Incarcerate you or put you in a full body bind, I’ll do it." So he sat there and listened. Really listened. And did his best not to interrupt too much. 

"Harry, in all the time I’ve known you, I’ve never known you to give up. You’ve always had a purpose, a focus, a drive that couldn’t be stopped by anyone. Not the Ministry, not the press, not teachers or friends or even threats from the Minister of Magic himself. Every time you got stomped on, pushed down, had rumours spread about you that you were mad, did you give up? No. You pushed back. You did what you had to do and you proved yourself worthy of respect.

"I wonder why, then, you’re allowing this to get to you. I mean, this is the Ministry we’re talking about. The Ministry with all the politics and restrictions and limitations. You’ve always hated all of that, so why would you be so upset at _not_ having to face it day in and day out?"

"I—" He frowned. Why _was_ he upset?

"Did you enjoy your job?"

No, actually he hadn’t enjoyed it. He’d had visions of it being like the battles, perhaps with some boredom mixed in along the way, but he’d done enough camping around the country to know he could handle that. He’d pictured himself out on the street, taking down criminals and making the world a better place. But most of the time he’d been stuck behind a desk shuffling papers around. "Not really, no," he said. "Truth be told, I was nearly numb from boredom."

"And the hierarchy?"

He ran a hand through his mop of hair. "Fuck, no. That drove me to distraction. Do you know how many people I had to get approval from before I could step foot out onto the street? Do you realise that if I hadn’t just done my own thing — screw all the stupid rules — I’d probably have had to get permission to use the bloody loo?"

Hermione laughed. "So then why, my dear friend, are you letting them win?"

"Excuse me?"

"Right now. What you’re doing. Drinking yourself into a state every night. You aren’t being you anymore. You’re letting them push you down and keep you down. How is this accomplishing anything? You can’t change things if you don’t do anything. You can’t help people if you can’t help yourself. Their goal, their biggest accomplishment, is to make you go away. And you’re letting them. Don’t hand them a win."

They sat quietly for a few minutes while Harry digested what she’d said. At length, he said, "But what am I supposed to do?" He’d never even considered another career path beyond being an Auror. He didn’t know what he _wanted_ to do, never mind what he _could_ do now. It was all so depressing.

"Whatever you want to do," she said, as if that answered everything. Clearly his face showed his scepticism as she smiled. "Oh, Harry. You have money enough to not _have_ to do anything you don’t want to do. You just need to figure out what would make you happy, give you a sense of purpose." He lifted a brow and she grinned. "And come up with something that’ll really stick it to them. Show them that you’re much better off without them, and that this is _their_ loss, not yours."

He laughed at that. "The best revenge is success, right?"

She smiled and her eyes crinkled in amusement. "Exactly."

When she was done, he’d had a lot to think about.

*~*~*

The door opened and Harry, now engrossed in a current case, looked up from his files. And nearly choked.

"Well, as I live and breathe. Malfoy. What brings your posh arse into my fine — but decidedly unposh — establishment?"

Rather than the expected response — acknowledgement that his place of business was, indeed, not posh, Malfoy just stood at the entrance looking like he was about to throw up.

"For fuck’s sake." He let out an exasperated sigh. The place wasn’t that bad, was it? "It may not be the high-class type of establishment you're used to, but nothing's going to jump out and bite you." At Malfoy's comically wide eyes, Harry snorted. Then he decided to have some fun with him. He let his eyes travel the length of Malfoy's body, ending with a grin. "Unless that's something you're into?"

Malfoy blinked several times before he glared.

Harry gave a triumphant grin. "Now there's the look of disdain I've grown accustomed to over the years!"

Malfoy pursed his lips. "I knew this was a mistake."

"Well you have me at a bit of a disadvantage there," Harry pointed out, leaning back in his chair and putting his feet up on the desk. Malfoy frowned. "Since you haven't told me why you're here, how can I respond to the idea that it was a mistake?" When Malfoy continued to frown, Harry added, "You see, it's customary for most people, when they first visit my humble establishment, to greet me. A _Good morning, Good day, Hello_ or — on occasion — a _Cheers, mate_. Not that I'd expect that last one from you, but—" He shrugged his shoulders. "—stranger things."

"Merlin, Potter, do you always talk this much?" Harry shrugged again in reply. "I don't recall you being this verbose in school."

Harry grinned. "I suppose I've come into my own in the last few years."

"So I've heard."

"Is that why you're here? To comment on my charming personality?"

"As a matter of fact, no. That’s not why I’m here. Truth be told, I’m wondering why I thought ... even for a moment ..."

Harry considered the man before him. They hadn’t argued in years. Not that they’d seen each other much since the trials, besides a passing nod to acknowledge the other man’s existence. Now Harry thought about it, he couldn’t remember when the last time was he’d seen Malfoy.

He removed his feet from the desk and sat upright again, motioning to one of the guest chairs. "Just have a seat and tell me why you’re here."

Malfoy reluctantly walked the rest of the way into the room and pulled up a chair in front of Harry’s cluttered desk. Once he got a close look, Harry thought he looked lost or dazed.

When once again, he wasn’t forthcoming, Harry nudged him. "Why are you here, Malfoy?"

He took a long breath before straightening his shoulders and turning pained eyes to Harry. "I need your help."

Harry resisted the urge to tease him more. "With what exactly?"

"It’s my mother." He wrung his hands together. "She’s missing."

Harry took a moment to absorb that. His first thought was, _Good on her, finally leaving that pathetic excuse for a human being she’s married to,_ but he didn’t think Malfoy would appreciate that. Besides, there’s no way she’d leave Draco behind without letting him know she was alright.

"Have you gone to the Aurors?" After all, they’d have more resources at their disposal than Harry.

Malfoy scoffed. "Yes, and they’ve done the bare minimum to avoid being accused of not doing their jobs. But I know they don’t care, and I doubt they’ve lifted more than a finger."

"So you came to me?" Harry’d had his share of witches and wizards seek out his help since he opened his business, but ... this was _Malfoy._

"Yes, Potter." He twisted his hands together again. "I heard that you’ve helped people." He barked out a derisive laugh. "That’s what you do, isn’t it? Always the Saviour?"

Harry felt the familiar burn of annoyance he’d always had around Malfoy and he narrowed his eyes at the prat. "I’m not sure what you expect from me."

"I _expect_ that you’ll help find my mother." He hesitated for a moment, his reddening face belying his calm demeanour. "You _owe_ her that much." And there it was.

Well, Harry thought, at least they were on familiar ground. "So my testimony at her trial and yours wasn’t enough? You still think I owe you?" Harry didn’t disagree, per se — she had saved his life, rather a big deal, even if it hadn’t been her end goal — but it didn’t mean he needed to make it easy on Malfoy. They had history. Loads of history. And he didn’t think they were _even_ yet. Not that he’d been counting or anything.

"Not me. You don’t owe me a thing. But my mother. She lied to Voldemort to save you."

"She lied to Voldemort to save _you_. I just happened to be there." He stopped what was sure to be a tirade with a raised hand. "Be that as it may, I’ll hear you out and we’ll see if I can help you."

"Really?"

"Sure." Harry leaned forward, crowding into Malfoy’s space. "What’s it worth to you?"

"I —" Harry watched the war behind Malfoy’s eyes play out in front of him, but he didn’t retreat. His Slytherin mind was probably running through scenarios, each potentially worse than the one before. At length, he sagged in his seat and mumbled, "It’s my mother, Potter. I’ll pay anything."

Harry let a grin form slowly and wickedly over his face, ideas for payment flashing past his eyes. "What if I said I want payment in kind?"

Malfoy frowned as he weighed Harry’s words. "Exactly _what_ are you proposing?" His cheeks flushed but, as fun as it might be, Harry resisted the urge to torment him more.

"I need help around here."

Malfoy scanned the office and wrinkled his nose. "I’m not cleaning your premises."

Harry chuckled. "Really? You’d pay _anything_ but you wouldn’t do that?"

"Fine. I’ll pay someone to do that."

Harry laughed outright now. "Relax, Malfoy, I don’t need cleaning help." Malfoy’s raised brow begged to differ on that opinion. "Whatever. What I need is someone to assist me when I’m working."

Once more, Malfoy looked around the sparse space. "What do you usually do?"

"Usually," Harry said, "Ron can pitch in. Or Luna. Occasionally Ginny."

"And they can’t now, why?"

"Let’s see ... Hermione’s about to pop a kid any day and Ron is spending every hour with her when he’s not at work. She’s had a rough go the last couple of weeks and he needs to be there. Gin is out of town with the team and Luna is currently in South America on a trip with Rolf."

"Rolf? You mean Scamander, the magical creatures expert?"

Harry nodded. "I was trying to work out what to do when you walked in."

"How convenient," Malfoy drawled, sounding like he thought it was anything but.

Harry smiled. "Indeed. I prefer not to work with Muggles, in case I need to use magic — far too complicated. And I can’t trust just anyone from the magical world. But, thanks to your fortuitous timing, now I don’t need to find an assistant."

"You do realise that I’m your _client_ , not your assistant, right? I pay you and you do work for me."

"You’re neither yet. But yes, I understand the relationship. What I’m saying is that part of your payment to me is helping me out on occasion. It’s not a full-time job, but I have a couple of clients with cases that may require I have someone accompany me on a stake-out or two."

Malfoy opened his mouth, closed it again, fidgeted, then went through the cycle twice more while Harry watched him weigh the pros and cons in his mind. "Take your time." Harry reached for the file he’d set aside when Malfoy arrived. "I’ll just carry on with what I was doing before you walked in."

Malfoy put his hand over the file. "Fine. I’ll do it."

"You will?" Harry was surprised he’d agreed so readily.

"Sure. Whatever. You’ll find my mother?"

"I’ll do my best." Malfoy looked ready to argue, then thought better of it. "I mean it, Malfoy. I take my job seriously and, though I’d hesitate to say I _owe_ you anything, I haven’t forgotten what Narcissa did for me."

Malfoy nodded. "Your fee?"

"Twenty galleons an hour plus expenses."

Malfoy’s eyes widened in surprise. "That’s it?" Harry nodded. "I expected ..."

"That I would take advantage of the situation? If you’d like to pay more, you’re welcome to, but I’m not about to charge you more than I would anyone else. And, for the record, that’s not cheap."

"I ..." Malfoy scrutinised Harry for some time. Harry held his gaze, engaging his Occlumency — which he’d finally mastered during Auror training — just in case. Malfoy visibly relaxed for the first time since he walked in. "Thank you."

Harry blinked, taken aback. "I haven’t done anything yet," he felt the need to point out. "But ... you’re welcome." 

Malfoy frowned. "You said you have other cases, and—" He looked around the office again. "—you don’t have any employees. Can you manage this as well?"

Harry shrugged. "I can balance multiple cases at once, yes. Full-time surveillance isn’t required for the current cases, and I’m waiting on responses to some information requests I’ve placed. I’ve got time." Malfoy looked sceptical. "If I need more resources, I’ll let you know. I could hire others to help out if it comes to that, but I sense you’d prefer discretion. I still don’t know why you came to me specifically, but rest assured, I am good at what I do. And I won’t hesitate to admit if I need help."

Malfoy hesitated before responding, then seemed resigned to explaining himself. "I came to you because I knew the Aurors weren’t doing all they could. You have Auror training and you work in the Muggle world. I don’t know anyone else that has those qualifications, and — loathe though I am to admit it — your integrity speaks for itself. Your reputation precedes you and, besides your disregard for authority, I’ve heard nothing but good things." Shockingly, he hadn’t choked on his words.

Harry grinned. "I bet that hurt."

Malfoy smirked. "Quite a lot, yes."

Harry laughed and held out his hand for Malfoy to shake. After a beat, he took it. "I’ll do everything in my power to find Narcissa. Muggle and magical means. No stone left unturned."

Malfoy nodded. "I also heard that you wouldn’t hesitate to ..."

"Bend the rules a bit?" Harry offered. Malfoy’s hopeful looked tugged unnervingly at Harry’s chest. The man’s _mother_ was missing. Harry didn’t doubt he was right, too, that the Aurors weren’t exactly tripping over themselves to find her. And he’d swallowed his pride and come to _Harry_ , of all people, for help. Well, fuck it. Harry winked. "Everything in my power, Malfoy."

Malfoy’s lips twitched. "I never thought I’d be thankful for your rule-breaking ways."

"First time for everything." He drew his wand and cast a recording spell. "Now, tell me what happened."

For the next half hour, Malfoy filled Harry in on the details of Narcissa’s disappearance. She’d gone shopping — where exactly, Malfoy wasn’t sure, but thought London was most likely — and hadn’t returned. That had been nearly two weeks ago. All communication was left unanswered, including owls that returned with unopened letters. The Aurors had only managed to confirm that she may or may not have been spotted in a clothing shop on Diagon Alley, but the witness couldn’t swear to it being her. They’d found no magical signature matching hers on the premises and that was it.

"That’s it?" Harry asked, incredulity getting the better of him. "That’s all they found?"

Malfoy nodded. "Not that they looked very hard." He started twisting his hands again.

Harry seethed and only just resisted reaching out to rest his hands over Malfoy’s to stop the motion. This was his mother. Didn’t they have any compassion? "I’ll do everything I can to find her," he repeated. "Everything."

"I can bring in some of her things, so you can match her magical signature."

"That would be good. Some photographs, too, so I can put the word out in Muggle and magical circles. And while you go get all that, I’ll start looking for reports of Jane Does."

"Jane whats?"

"Jane Does. Unidentified women that have shown up at hospitals and such. I’ll narrow down the search that way first, and then send pictures out when you get back."

"Okay. I’ll go right now."

Harry nodded. "Oh, and Malfoy?"

"Yes?"

"I’ll be as discreet as possible — the Muggle contacts won’t matter, obviously — but once I start asking around, it’ll only be a matter of time before word gets out. Are you prepared for that?"

"I don’t care." His hand-wringing told another story. Harry recalled how brutal both the press and the public had been after Draco and Narcissa had received no prison time, and Lucius had received a laughably light sentence; he had no reason to suspect it would be any better once this news broke. "I obviously don’t want her disappearance splashed all over the papers, but I’m willing to deal with anything if it means finding her and bringing her home."

"Okay, then. I just wanted to be sure you were prepared."

"Father won’t like it," he said with a bitter tone Harry’d never heard him use when talking of Lucius.

"I don’t really give a fuck about Lucius."

Malfoy snorted. "Neither do I."

He left and Harry began his search. Thanks to modern technology — and a handy bit of spell work to access certain restricted databases — he launched queries into Jane Does (dead, injured, homeless and hospitalised) logged by morgues, hospitals and the police. He then put a call in to a contact in the Auror department, leaving a message to get back to him as soon as possible. 

When Malfoy returned, Harry was working on a search of local news reports. If they turned up nothing, he would expand his geographical parameters, widening his search until he found her.

Malfoy handed over half a dozen pictures and some personal items of Narcissa’s. "I might need to drop by the manor sometime, but we’ll start with these things," Harry said. He didn’t cherish the idea of returning to the place where Hermione had been tortured, but he’d do it if he had to. "Preferably objects she felt a connection to. The traces will be more meaningful on those items."

Malfoy scowled. "The Aurors didn’t say anything about that."

"They may have been able to identify enough with what you gave them."

"They said anything would do, anything she’d touched recently."

Harry ran a hand through his hair and tried not to let his frustration show. "That’s technically true, but if I attempt a tracking spell, I like to have something that’s stronger as a source."

"A tracking spell? Isn’t that illegal?"

Harry gave him an _are you seriously asking me that_ look before rolling his eyes. "Did you want to find your mother?"

"Yes, of course."

"Do you care if the spell is legal or not, if it helps to find her?"

"I ... well, no."

"Exactly."

Malfoy stared at Harry before asking, "Couldn’t you get in trouble for that?"

Harry sighed. "Did we not agree earlier that I’m all about bending the rules?"

"Bending them, yes, but breaking the law? Potter, you can’t. I can’t be responsible for you breaking the law."

"See, here’s the way I see it. It’s not illegal to track someone if they give you permission. And in her absence, I am going to presume she would be okay with _you_ giving permission on her behalf."

"Really?"

Harry shrugged. "No, not really. The law was designed without that loophole, to prevent, for instance, an abusive spouse from hunting them down. But I can make a compelling case for it, particularly in the case of a son who was always very close to his mother, and the media will eat it up. No one would dare come after me."

"Are you sure?"

Harry shrugged. "I’m willing to chance it. And just for the record, no, I wouldn’t do it for Lucius."

Malfoy’s eyes widened. "But you’ll do it for me? I thought you said you don’t owe me anything."

Harry thought about his answer. He didn’t want to alarm Malfoy by pointing out the obvious — that Narcissa wouldn’t simply up and leave without any word to Draco. "Because it’s the right thing to do."

*~*~*

Harry spent the balance of the day chasing down leads on his other cases and sending out inquiries and pictures of Narcissa to Muggle establishments. He’d wait to hear back from his contact at the Ministry before broadcasting too widely in the wizarding community.

When Malfoy returned, he’d just begun to make notes on his case. "I’ve sent the first round of inquiries out. I’ll work on expanding the search tomorrow."

"How long before you hear back?"

Harry put down his pen and motioned for Malfoy to sit. He continued to fidget, but at least he no longer loomed over Harry at the same time. "Depends on how busy they are. Hospitals tend to respond within the day — they’re anxious to identify patients. But police are busy with so many cases, so many incoming calls, and come across so many transients, that they generally take longer. On average, about a week. Sometimes longer."

"A week?"

Harry nodded. "I _may_ have put a charm on my requests — to encourage them to be placed atop the pile — but that still won’t guarantee a quick reply." Malfoy looked relieved and impressed in equal measure, but said nothing. "So that’s it for today. I’ll get back at it in the morning." He closed Malfoy’s file and opened another. "Meanwhile, are you free for surveillance tonight?"

"Tonight?"

"I told you I was looking for help when you arrived. I wasn't making that up."

"It’s just I didn’t expect ... What will it entail?"

Harry shrugged. "Won't know until I'm there but I was hired to find out if a husband is cheating on his wife. So we'll follow him wherever he goes and see if we catch him meeting up with someone."

Malfoy narrowed his eyes. "And you need company for this?"

"It helps. Following isn't a big deal, but if he goes inside somewhere, I'm less conspicuous if I have someone with me. And if there's more than one entrance, it's easier to follow with two people."

Malfoy leaned back in his seat. "Do you think the wife is right?"

"They usually are." Sadly, Harry had learned this early on. "And if they don't go straight to a hotel, they usually have dinner somewhere, so you'll get a meal out of it. Or if he's just out looking, he might go to a bar."

"He's a Muggle?"

"He is. Probably best to dress casually so we won't stand out wherever we end up."

Malfoy looked down at his clothes, definitely not what Harry would call casual. "Glamour?"

Harry considered the question. "Maybe on your hair so you blend in more, but otherwise, no. He's not seen me yet, so I think we're good. Next time, maybe."

"Next time?" 

"Unless we catch him in the act," Harry said, "I’ll need to come up with more than one dinner or dance with someone, which could be explained away as a chance meeting."

"Even if he makes an obvious pass?"

Harry sighed. "You’d be surprised at how many people believe even the most blatant lies and pathetic excuses."

"Love is blind?"

"I don’t know about blind, or even love for that matter." Harry shrugged. "I just think when people put their trust in someone, they want to believe the best in them."

Malfoy snorted. "Sounds like a bunch of Hufflepuffs."

"Perhaps." Harry hoped never to be in such a situation. "Of course, if they’re caught in the act, there’s really no getting out of that one."

Malfoy snorted. "No, I can’t imagine any excuse worthy of forgiving that."

"Not the forgiving sort, Malfoy?"

Malfoy raised a brow. "I don’t share well, no."

Harry chuckled. "I bet you don’t."

"Only child. Never had to share," he said. "I don’t imagine _you_ would be good at sharing either."

"True," Harry conceded. "But that’s more because when I’m in a relationship I’m _all_ in. I don’t much care for casual." 

"Interesting." Malfoy’s smirked and Harry wondered if he’d said too much. "Alright, then, Potter. It’s a date."

*~*~*

They spent over an hour trailing the subject of Harry’s investigation, Theodore Mackey — Malfoy whining about how bored he was most of the time — before he finally entered a pub. They followed a minute later and found him sat at the bar, a glass of amber liquid already in front of him. Harry sized up the place before leading the way to a table near the back, with sightlines to the front door, the bar, the washrooms and the back door.

Harry went to the bar and got himself a pint of Guinness — Seamus’ influence had left its mark — and Malfoy a pint of cider. Mackey had his phone in hand but Harry was unable to see with whom or about what he was texting. When he returned to the table, Malfoy asked, "So now what?"

"Now we watch."

Though Mackey’s back was to them, Harry grabbed a menu to make his staring less obvious, and Malfoy copied. "Ugh," Malfoy grunted. "Pub food."

Harry leaned in and motioned with a finger for Malfoy to come closer. Once he’d done so, Harry whispered, "That’s because this is a pub."

Malfoy pulled back and glared. "Yes, thanks for pointing out the obvious."

Harry chuckled. "Glad to be of service." He picked up his menu once more and scanned it briefly. "Mmm. Shepard’s pie for me."

"Ugh." Malfoy scrunched his nose at the choices before sighing loudly. "I suppose a steak and ale pie will suffice."

Harry, who’d been watching Mackey, motioned towards the front and Malfoy turned his gaze towards the bar where a man had just taken the stool next to Mackey and was grasping his hand and leaning in. After a time, he reluctantly released Mackey’s hand, but with a swipe of his finger across the back of his wrist. "They seem cosy," Malfoy said.

"Don’t they just?" Harry replied. He stood and looked at Malfoy. "So, pie and another cider?" Malfoy nodded and Harry made his way back to the bar, hoping to catch some of the men’s conversation.

"Let’s get out of here," the younger man said. "I feel like dancing."

Mackey sighed. "But I’ve only just got this drink."

"Fair enough," the other man agreed. "I’ll order one for myself and when we’re done, we’ll head down the road." He leaned in and whispered something into Mackey’s ear that Harry couldn’t hear. Mackey laughed and ran his hand down the other man’s arm.

Harry collected their drinks and went back to the table. "Change of plans. No food. They’re leaving after this round."

Malfoy pursed his lips. "I need some food."

Harry grinned. "I thought you didn’t like pub food?"

"It’s better than no food."

"Aw," Harry teased. "I promise to buy you some food at the next stop." He didn’t mention they’d be going somewhere with dancing.

"You’d better," Malfoy grumbled. Harry’s shoulders shook as he suppressed his laughter. "What?" Picturing Malfoy’s face if they ended up where Harry imagined they would, Harry sipped his beer to cover his amusement.

When Mackey and his friend left, Harry and Malfoy followed at a distance, under a concealment charm to avoid being noticed. But before they reached their destination, Mackey’s phone rang. He answered, said a few words into the phone, then hung up.

"Can’t tonight. Something’s come up at home."

The other man stepped closer, pulling Mackey towards him by his shirt and kissing him gently on the lips. "Oh, come on. Just an hour."

Mackey groaned and looked around briefly before pressing the other man up against a wall. They indulged in a less gentle kiss for a few moments before pulling apart. "I can’t. Rain check?"

The other man pouted and Malfoy snorted. Thankfully, they were far enough away and too engrossed in each other that they didn’t hear him. "I can’t tomorrow, but I’m free the next night," the pouty blond suggested. Harry took note of the time and location they’d agreed to and they left them to say their goodbyes.

"You still owe me dinner," Malfoy said.

"Yeah, yeah. Let’s go."

*~*~*

Oh, this was going to be fun. Harry chuckled as he hung the gown on the coat rack the next day. Malfoy was going to lose his shit when he saw this getup. Sure enough, when he arrived, Malfoy did not look impressed.

"There’s a formal event tonight that my client has provided me tickets for," he explained. "And he stated, in no uncertain terms, that I need to attend with a plus one."

Malfoy narrowed his eyes. "And why, pray tell, must we go as a _couple_? Surely people attend such affairs as singles."

"True, but then someone is always trying to set the singles up, and I can’t risk the distraction. The event will have a rather _mature_ crowd, which will guarantee a matchmaker or three in the throng. Or so I’ve been told."

"Well then, why not go as a couple without the disguise? Two men together is acceptable, is it not?"

Harry pretended to consider the matter for a while before answering. Truth was, he had no idea. It could go either way, given the clientele, but he wasn’t about to admit that. No, he wanted a bit of fun at Malfoy’s expense. And, really, what could be better than this? He shook his head. "I can’t be sure, particularly given the age of the crowd. I just wouldn’t want to draw unnecessary attention." Malfoy’s cheeks reddened as he once more looked at the sequin gown. "Ordinarily, I’d ask Luna or Ginny, but ..."

"Yes, Potter, you’ve said. They’re both unavailable." And to Harry’s utter amazement, he snatched the gown off the coat rack and stormed off into the back room. Truth be told, he’d expected a bit more of a fight. In fact, he was nearly sure Malfoy was going to tell him to shove the dress and the case up his arse and storm out. Harry knew it was because of Narcissa. And, yes, he was being an arse, taking advantage of the situation like this. But he’d had years of putting up with Malfoy being the arse, and he was due for some payback. Of course, he’d have done the job anyway, no matter if Malfoy had agreed to work with him or not. He just didn’t have to tell the git that.

He heard grumbling from the back. "Need a hand?" he called, not even trying to conceal his amusement.

"No, I don’t need a hand, you fucking tosser!" Harry grinned. This was going to be a fun night. 

With amusement, Harry mentally checked off the necessary surveillance equipment he’d need to bring along — small, hidden audio and video recording devices they’d both have on their persons, as well as heavier equipment to distribute around the venue, to record the larger space. He packed everything into his briefcase and was just about to retrieve his tuxedo when a loud crash sounded from the back room.

"Are you sure you don’t need help?" he called out as he snapped the briefcase shut and locked it.

"I do not need _your_ help to get dressed, thanks ever so, Potter."

"Try not to destroy my office, yeah?"

More grumbling sounded. "I just needed to steady myself in these heels."

Heels? Harry hadn’t given him heels. He hadn’t given him shoes at all. Hadn’t thought about it. He chuckled as the picture of Malfoy wobbling around in high heeled shoes danced before his eyes. "Don’t make them too high," he said. "Wouldn’t want you too much taller than me," Harry said.

"Well, you should have thought of that before deciding that _I_ should be the one in the dress."

Harry snorted. "Right. Like I could pull off a look like that."

"Oh, and I can?" Incredulity laced his words.

"I think so." Harry realised that he’d just assumed Malfoy could, in fact, disguise himself as a woman. "In Auror training, the slimmer ones were always the girls, and you have a slim frame and delicate bone structure." It was true. His pointy features as a child had softened considerably over the years.

"I am not delicate!"

Harry barked out a laugh. "No, I would never call you delicate."

"You just did, you tosser."

"I just said you have delicate _bone structure_. It’s not the same thing. You’d have a much easier time pulling off the look with a few well-placed concealment spells. I, on the other hand, would need an entire makeover and I’d still come out looking hideous."

"You’re not exactly heavy," Malfoy’s voice called. Harry heard soft muttering as well, but couldn’t make out what he was saying. Probably the very charms Harry’d just mentioned. "But, loathe though I am to admit it, you’re probably right about the bone structure. That square jaw of yours would need some serious work to soften up."

"Ha! Glad you agree that you’ll make a better girl."

"Don’t push your luck, Potter." Harry heard a few more low utterances and then the back door opened. He willed himself to stand his ground and not laugh, lest Malfoy storm back out before Harry could really get the most out of the evening. 

With the clicking of heels and a fair bit of grumbling, Malfoy emerged. And Harry’s heart leapt into his throat. Malfoy’s hair, now reaching halfway down his back and flowing with soft waves, bounced lightly with every step he took and draped gently over his shoulders. It framed a stunning — and Harry had to admit, pretty — face with big, bright eyes and soft, pouty lips. The makeup he’d applied — including long but not unnatural looking eyelashes — softened his features in subtle ways that outdid any Harry’d seen in stealth and concealment training.

The dress — a blue sequined number Harry’d hoped to get a few good laughs out of, for its form-fitting shape — hugged suggestively to Malfoy’s slim but now curvy frame. But Harry wasn’t laughing. He could barely breathe. "Well, fuck me!"

"Yes, well as tempting as that might be under other circumstances — no, scratch that, it wouldn’t be — I don’t think I can move much less fuck anyone in this gown." He fidgeted and squirmed and adjusted the slender, floor-length dress which, Harry had to admit, clung to him from breasts to hips. He shook his head. Had he just thought about Malfoy’s breasts? Merlin help him.

"Stop staring! I know you did this to piss me off or embarrass me, Potter, but you can stop with the hormonal gawping already. It won’t make me feel any more awkward than I already do."

Harry closed his mouth, having just realised it had been hanging open. "Holy shit, Malfoy, you’re _hot!_ Bloody hell. Who’d have thought you were hiding this under that personality of yours?"

Something in Malfoy’s eyes flared in that moment, and Harry immediately regretted his outburst. But holy, hell, Malfoy _was_ fucking hot.

Harry realised the depth of his mistake about half an hour into the party. Malfoy had draped himself over Harry, clinging to him and whispering in his ear. Laughing at anything remotely amusing or witty he might say and _touching_ him at every opportunity. Tucking stray hairs behind his ears, brushing imaginary lint from his jacket, adjusting his tie. But Harry took it all in stride, as best he could — he knew this was Malfoy’s way of getting him back for making him wear the dress — but even he had limits. When Malfoy’s hand drifted slowly downwards, ending with a light squeeze of his arse, he forced a smile onto his face that he suspected looked more like a grimace. Through gritted teeth, he leaned in and said, "What the fuck do you think you’re doing?" in Malfoy’s ear. 

Malfoy giggled — a horrifically giddy and girly giggle — and slapped him playfully on the arm. "Oh, you dog!" he said. Then he turned to the couple in front of them and stage whispered, "He just can’t keep his hands off of me. I mean, really!" He giggled some more and turned to Harry. "Can’t you wait until we get home?" His sheer audacity left Harry speechless.

An hour or so later, Harry had managed to peel Malfoy from his side, and they’d decided to separate, to ensure maximum coverage. Malfoy was astonishingly good at working a room and Harry wouldn’t be surprised if he managed to get some gossip on the subject of their surveillance, upon which they could begin to build a case. 

"You lucky sod, you." The man stood next to Harry was speaking to him but stared at Malfoy who was now chatting with the man’s wife.

"Excuse me?"

The man was looking at Malfoy as though mentally undressing him. "That’s one gorgeous woman you’ve got there." His eyes darkened as Malfoy waved at him playfully from across the room.

Harry realised belatedly that the distant rumbling he heard was coming from him. He was growling at the man. Evidently, he’d heard it too, because he quickly dropped the hungry look for one a bit more fearful. Good. "No offence meant, of course," he stammered. "Just admiring."

"Yeah," Harry said, forgetting himself entirely. "See that you do that _from a distance._ "

By the end of the evening, Malfoy had returned to Harry’s side and was once more draped over him. Harry was torn between relief — the gentleman who’d spoken with Harry earlier hadn’t been the only one staring at Malfoy all night — and irritation — Harry found it difficult to concentrate with Malfoy in such close proximity. 

When the party ended, Harry Apparated them back to his office and at once grabbed Malfoy by the shoulders and pushed him back against the wall, his frustration finally able to show itself. "What the fuck are you playing at, Malfoy?"

He batted his fake eyelashes and pouted. Running his hands over Harry’s chest, he said, "What’s the matter, honey? Didn’t I play the besotted girlfriend well enough for you?"

Harry grabbed his wrists and pushed them over his head, leaning in. They were mere inches apart and Harry could practically taste the wine on Malfoy’s breath. "A little too well, _honey._ "

Malfoy smirked, completely unfazed by their proximity, his eyes twinkling. In the most saccharine voice Harry’d ever heard, he said, "So you’re mad at me for being too good? Did you want me to be _bad_ instead?"

Harry released Malfoy’s arms, let out a frustrated grunt, and stormed off to the back room to get changed, Malfoy’s laughter following after him.

*~*~*

Harry arrived at work late the next morning, having had difficulty sleeping the night before, only to have his dreams — once he finally had drifted off — infiltrated by a snarky blond in an evening gown. Part way through the dream, the gown and long hair had disappeared along with the makeup, and Harry had been left just as turned on by Malfoy in his regular clothes with his distinctly male form as he had been by the female version. He’d woken in the middle of the night painfully hard and had wanked himself raw, Malfoy’s mischievous eyes swimming before him. After that, much to his dismay, he hadn’t been able to fall back asleep for hours.

Things only got worse later that day. They’d be following Mackey and his _friend_ to a gay club that night. This appeared to suit Malfoy just fine as he arrived at Harry’s office looking perfectly comfortable wearing leather pants and a tissue-thin sleeveless t-shirt. And was that a ... nipple ring? Fucking hell. He looked just as hot in this getup as he had in the evening gown the night before. Better, actually, since he looked every bit a man. Harry groaned, wondering what on earth had given him the impression he’d be better at manipulating a situation to his advantage than a lifelong, card-carrying Slytherin.

"What’s the matter, Potter?" he asked innocently. "Do I not look the part?"

Harry’d suggested they meet that afternoon to sort out what would be best to wear — given Malfoy was a pureblood and Harry’d seen how purebloods pulled together Muggle outfits — but clearly Malfoy knew _exactly_ what to wear to a gay club. He didn’t let himself explore that line of thought too much. Instead, having been had once more, he just growled and slammed the door to his office. He could hear Malfoy’s laughter as he sat down and let his head hit the desk. Repeatedly. He’d unleashed a monster, hadn’t he? His cock, on the other hand, was perfectly content with this newly discovered Malfoy. In fact, it was very interested indeed. He banged his head on the desk once more for good measure.

The only solution was to get rid of the git. Which meant finding Narcissa. Not that he hadn’t been looking for her already, but he generally preferred to investigate in stages, giving the narrow scope time to work itself through before broadening his efforts. It also tended to save the clients money in the long run. But, in the interest of his own sanity — specifically getting Malfoy out of his life sooner rather than later — perhaps he ought to ramp it up a notch or two. Malfoy could afford it and maybe, given Narcissa’s ability to travel more readily and stealthily using magic, perhaps it was best anyway.

He’d searched hospital and police reports on Jane Does that had appeared in the area encompassing Witshire through London, as far north as Oxford and as far south as Southampton. The day prior he’d expanded that to the whole of England to see if anything came up. Now he expanded his search to the entirety of the UK and Ireland. Narcissa was a beautiful, if aloof and cultured woman. It was doubtful she’d go unnoticed. She wouldn’t exactly fit into the typical missing person that the police might give no more than a passing glance to, since she was so obviously a woman of means and refinement.

Malfoy came sauntering in — and saunter he did — a few minutes later, still dressed in his flamboyant outfit, nipple ring taunting Harry. "So what time are we heading out to this club?"

Harry suppressed a moan. The man really was too delicious for words. Shame it was Malfoy. "I say we get there a bit before they’re scheduled to meet. Give us a chance to scope the place out." He shrugged. "Say nine thirty?"

"Sounds good to me. The happy hour crowd should be gone by then and most of the night crowd won’t have arrived yet, so we should be able to get a table." Harry narrowed his eyes. Malfoy really _did_ know about the club scene. "So, do you need anything else or shall we just meet back here then?"

Harry doubted he’d get much done if Malfoy stuck around in that getup. "Meet back here around nine. That’ll give us time to secure the surveillance equipment before we head out." He gave Malfoy a once-over, wondering where, even with decent concealment charms, he could place a camera on that sheer shirt. Maybe on that nipple ring?

Malfoy smirked, as though he could read Harry’s thoughts. Thank Merlin Harry’s skills in Occlumency had improved. Malfoy would be positively insufferable if he knew precisely how much Harry was affected by his ... by him. Fuck, that would be a nightmare. "See you then," he said. Harry chose to ignore the sway of his hips as he left Harry’s office and closed the door.

Once Harry heard the crack of Apparition, he got down to work. The sooner he found Narcissa, the sooner Malfoy would be out of his life

At nine o’clock on the dot, Malfoy returned. He still wore the outfit he’d had on earlier, but he’d added some kohl eyeliner, body glitter — fucking hell — and had spiked his hair. He’d also added a pair of heavy, black boots, making his already long legs even longer. He did a slow twirl — to drive Harry completely mad, no doubt — and Harry could swear the pants were even tighter now than they’d been that afternoon. "All set?" he asked.

Harry got up from his desk. "Give me a minute to change." 

He went into his back room and emerged a few minutes later wearing a deep green v-neck t-shirt that hugged his biceps and showed off his his abs to the fullest, the tightest black jeans he owned, which Ginny swore did his arse the utmost justice, and his own black boots. Malfoy’s eyes marked a lazy trail over Harry, head to toe and back up again. "Well, well, this is unexpected," Malfoy said. "You clean up alright, Potter."

Harry shrugged. "Just playing the part."

"Mm." Malfoy grinned. "And playing it very well." He approached Harry and reached up to run a hand through Harry’s hair. Harry froze. "May I?" Harry thought it was a bit late to be asking _after_ he’d already touched his hair, but he nodded anyway. Malfoy pulled out his wand and aimed it at his palm. Gel poured out the end and for a moment Harry didn’t know what the hell was going on. Malfoy rubbed his hands together. "Hair gel," he explained. "This should finish up the look." He ran his hands through Harry’s hair again, spreading the gel to the roots. Harry barely resisted moaning into the touch; it had been a long time since ... well. It felt wonderful — Malfoy’s hands felt wonderful — and the scent of the product made him want to sigh. 

"There." Malfoy stepped back to take in Harry’s appearance once more. Harry tried not to fidget under his scrutiny. "Perfect."

Harry snorted. "There’s something I never thought I’d hear from you. Not in reference to me, anyway."

Malfoy ran his eyes over Harry’s body once more, not even trying to hide his appreciation — Harry could practically feel the caress — and smirked. "You never looked like this before."

They stared at each other for a long moment, the air crackling between them, before Harry cleared his throat. "Right, then. Let’s get wired up."

"You know, I don’t think it’ll be much of a hardship hanging all over you looking like that, Potter." Once more Harry was subjected to the scrutiny of Malfoy’s gaze. "Don’t get me wrong, your tuxedo was a flattering look — worlds better than the clothes you wore in school, though that’s not a very high bar — and the way you got all flustered _was_ rather amusing. But tonight you look positively _edible_." He grinned at Harry, his eyes flashing in a way that made Harry feel very much like a dish Malfoy would happily devour.

Harry swallowed, trying to tamp down the surge of lust he’d been trying to keep at bay since Malfoy had shown up in those clothes this afternoon. When he thought he could speak with a clear voice, he said, "Yeah, about that. I think we go in together, but not as a couple. More approachable."

Malfoy pouted and Harry imagined he could get away with an awful lot with a mouth like that. "More’s the pity."

Harry brushed aside the surreal nature of the situation — Malfoy flirting openly with him and Harry seriously wondering what those lips would taste like and how that arse would feel — and ushered them out the door. He had work to do, after all.

They managed to secure a table, thanks to the early hour — not the best position, but they did have a decent view of most of the place, and had a clear sight line to the dance floor. After nearly forty minutes, Malfoy nudged Harry. "Over there." Harry followed his gaze and saw Mackey making his way to the dance floor with the same man he’d met the other night. When they pressed their bodies together and started moving, he said, "Very cosy."

Harry watched as the men moved to the thumping of the music, the blond running his hands freely over Mackey’s chest from behind, Mackey grinding his arse back into the blond’s crotch, his head resting on the blond’s shoulder, eyes closed, lost in the rhythm. Three more songs and more of the same later, Harry expected them to make their way to the back of the club together when they got off the dance floor, but the blond disappeared on his own and Mackey made his way to the bar. 

Malfoy watched his approach intently, pulling his straw into his mouth and sucking on it suggestively. Harry’s attention returned to Mackey who’d stopped en route and was now watching Malfoy with a glint in his eye. As he approached, he spared Harry a glance before leaning in and whispering something in Malfoy’s ear. Malfoy chuckled and took another long suck from his straw, drawing Mackey’s gaze once more. "Nice moves."

Mackey held out his hand. "I’m Brad." 

Malfoy took his hand, shook it, then used it to draw him closer. "Hi, Brad. I’m David."

"Well, David, what are you having?"

Malfoy took another long suck from his straw. "Vodka tonic."

Brad went to the bar and returned with a drink for Malfoy plus his own, ignoring Harry entirely. When he handed Malfoy his drink, he motioned towards Harry. "You two together?"

"We arrived together," Malfoy said, raising a brow and looking Harry’s way. "But, no. I’m happily unattached. Isn’t that right?"

Harry wanted to argue, wanted the clingy Malfoy back from the night before. It was stupid, he knew. But he’d said it himself: they’d do better separately. And he couldn’t deny the interest Brad had in Malfoy. "Sure," he said, swigging back the last of his own drink, unaccountably irritated. "Happily unattached."

Brad’s bemused look told Harry he hadn’t hidden his irritation well. He stepped closer to Malfoy and leaned towards his ear. "Drink up." He nudged Draco’s glass. "Dance with me."

Malfoy graced him with a wide grin and took a large gulp of his fresh drink, ignoring the straw altogether. "What about your partner?" He eyed the path to the back the blond had taken.

"What about him?"

Malfoy grinned and poured another third of the drink down his throat, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed. "You happily unattached too?" 

Harry looked at his empty glass and fought the urge to get another.

"Not exactly," Brad admitted. "But you don’t have to worry about him."

Malfoy flashed him another grin and shot back the rest of his drink. "Then let’s dance." He removed Brad’s not quite empty glass from his hand, placed it on the table, and dragged him towards the dance floor. Harry stared helplessly after them.

If Brad’s previous dancing had drawn attention, it was nothing to what he and Malfoy were currently doing. Harry followed their moves, sure to keep his glasses — and the video recording — facing directly towards them. There was no mistaking Brad’s desire as he ground their crotches together, running his hands freely over Malfoy’s back and arse, their bodies practically moulded together as one. Harry barely kept himself in check, a roiling in his gut, unbidden, warring with his need to do his job.

When Brad leaned down to kiss Malfoy, he turned his head, only allowing the other man access to his throat. Brad clutched him more tightly, ground himself more roughly into Malfoy, and Harry had had enough. Convinced he’d obtained all the evidence he would tonight for the wife — short of catching him in the act, which was sure as hell not happening with Malfoy — he marched onto the dance floor, tugging Malfoy’s arm from the man’s shoulder and spinning him around and into Harry’s arms. 

After his initial shock at being manhandled by Harry, Malfoy allowed himself a self-satisfied grin. The smug bastard knew exactly what he was doing and Harry was helpless to resist. They stared at each other for a heartbeat until their bodies responded to the thrum of the music, both stepping in closer until they fitted together, chest to thigh, both of them ignoring the protests of the man who thought he’d be going home with Malfoy tonight. Distantly, Harry registered that Malfoy hadn’t been affected by all the rutting he and Brad had been doing, and something inside him cheered. As the two of them moved together, however, that soon changed.

Malfoy’s hard chest, smooth skin and slender, swaying hips were too seductive for words. By the time the song ended, they were both rock hard. When Malfoy scraped his teeth over Harry’s pulse point on his neck and rasped, "Let’s get out of here," it was Harry’s undoing, and he couldn’t drag him out the door fast enough. They Apparated from the first free alley they found to Harry’s office and were all over each other before they’d even steadied themselves properly.

All heat, all desire, there was nothing remotely gentle about their coming together. Harry gulped down Malfoy’s moans and Malfoy plundered Harry’s mouth with his tongue. Like with everything else, they fought for dominance and fuck, it was glorious.

Malfoy pulled back and stripped off his hardly-there shirt, then yanked Harry’s t-shirt over his head. The brief separation allowed Harry’s brain catch up to their surroundings. "This is a bad idea," he said as Malfoy grabbed his belt loops and pulled him back in.

"Horrible," Malfoy agreed before resuming his exploration of Harry’s mouth. He pulled back, breathless. "Highly unprofessional." Then he licked a strip up Harry’s neck and bit down on his earlobe.

Harry moaned. "Seriously, though," Harry dragged his nails down Malfoy’s back before pressing him against the wall and Malfoy growled. "You’re a client."

"And you’re a rule breaker," Malfoy reminded him, reaching his hand down to Harry’s groin and squeezing his fully hard cock. "What’s the problem?"

With Malfoy’s hand on his dick, Harry couldn’t think of a single one.

He reached for Malfoy’s waistband, quickly undoing the leather pants and reaching in to grab hold of his length. Malfoy’s _"Fuck, yes,"_ was all the encouragement he needed. 

As Harry began to stroke, Malfoy struggled to release Harry from the confines of his jeans. Harry halted briefly to give him better access and once he took Harry’s cock in his sure grip, Harry’s world was reduced to sensation. Rocking into Malfoy’s fist, Harry wordlessly conjured lube into his free hand, then pulled Malfoy’s hand off him. Spreading the cool gel over both their rigid cocks, he pressed them together and resumed stroking, his hand joined soon enough by Malfoy’s.

Malfoy let out a groan and found Harry’s mouth with his own once more. He tasted faintly of gin and lime and Harry drank it in, drunk on lust and thirsty for all he could get. As their lube-coated hands stroked ever harder and faster, filthy squelching noises filled the air, driving them towards climax. And fuck, Malfoy’s tongue was just as filthy as he thrust into Harry’s mouth with messy abandon. Harry’s hips thrust forward, pressing Malfoy into the wall over and over again. And when Malfoy’s thumb brushed over the head of his cock, Harry plummeted over the edge.

His come now mixing with the lube to make the slide even smoother, and his strokes losing all rhythm, Harry hardened his grip, determined to bring Malfoy to the brink. A few strokes later, Malfoy’s cock twitched and spurted between them. Harry rode the wave until his over-stimulated prick demanded he stop.

Blinking heavily lidded eyes, Malfoy rested his head back against the wall, breathing heavily and grinning lazily, utterly debauched. Harry grinned back and leaned in for another kiss, this one slow and deep and leisurely. Malfoy’s arms reached up and he dragged fingers through Harry’s hair, pulling him in closer and deepening the kiss. The intimacy of the moment — much more so than what had gone before — struck Harry and he wondered briefly what might have been if their lives had taken a different path when they’d first met.

With a wave of his arm, he vanished the mess and then proceeded to tuck Malfoy back into his pants and pull up and fasten his trousers. As he did the same for himself, Malfoy retrieved their shirts, handed Harry his and pulled his own back on. "I should go."

He didn’t move, though, and Harry once more closed the distance between them and kissed him. When they parted, Harry rested his forehead against Malfoy’s. "Mm. Me too." And he kissed him again. And again. And one more time for good measure.

Malfoy chuckled. "Okay, I really do have to go now. I have a job to go to in the morning."

Harry brushed the hair off Malfoy’s forehead with his fingers and leaned in for another. "So do I."


	3. Blank Slate

The next morning, Harry knew he should regret what had happened the night before — Malfoy was a client, after all — but he couldn’t bring himself to. He’d done a healthy amount of soul searching once he’d got home and found that this turn of events shouldn’t really have come as too much of a surprise. Sure, they’d hated each other in school, but more than anything they’d vied for each other’s attention. And hadn’t Ron and Hermione repeatedly told Harry he was _obsessed_ with Malfoy?

And there was no denying their mutual attraction. Malfoy was hot as hell — how had Harry missed that? — and that mouth. Harry wanted more of that. Wanted to feel it all over him. Wanted to feel Malfoy beneath him, inside him, all around him. Oh, yes. He wanted to discover all there was to know about the snarky man who’d been the snarky kid that had pissed him off at every turn in school.

He dragged his hands over his face in an effort to clear his head. He drank a good measure of his extra strong and sweet coffee and turned on his computer. And what he saw there did more to dispel the fog than any of his previous efforts. 

He’d got a hit on Narcissa. A woman matching her description had been brought to a Muggle care facility in Wales of all places a couple of weeks ago. She had no memory of who she was or where she’d come from, but had been oddly but well-dressed and had clearly come from an affluent home.

Harry thought about contacting Malfoy, but didn’t want to get his hopes up in case it wasn’t Narcissa. He replied and asked if he could drop by to see her later that day. While he waited for a reply, he filled up on caffeine and wrote up the previous night’s case notes. He printed several still shots of Mackey — aka "Brad" — mauling Malfoy and added a copy of the relevant sections of the time stamped surveillance tapes to the file. After reviewing the full content of the case file to date, he decided that one more stake-out would be in order.

*~*~*

Harry entered the facility at two o’clock that afternoon. It wasn’t unlike the Malfoy Manor grounds, as it turned out: a large manor house situated on a large property with a grand entrance and a wooded area out back. No peacocks, he noted. It didn’t feel like a hospital or long-term care home and, but for a number of patients in wheelchairs and staff dressed in tell-tale pastel uniforms, it could have been someone’s personal estate.

Harry introduced himself to the Head Nurse, Rebecca, who took him on a brief tour of the facility. While they wandered the halls and grounds, Harry asked some questions about their Jane Doe that Rebecca — with a little nudge from a handy little spell — happily answered. When she brought him to Narcissa’s room — and it was, indeed, Narcissa — he was relieved to see her healthy and well dressed, though it was odd to see her in Muggle attire. She sat at a table by the window overlooking the grounds, and had been reading a book he didn’t recognise when they’d entered. 

Rebecca introduced him. "Jane, dear, this young man is Harry. He’s a private investigator." When Harry nodded, she smiled. "He was hired to find you."

She turned a confused face to Harry. "You were?" 

Harry smiled. "I was. Your family is very worried about you."

She frowned. "They are?"

"They are indeed."

Narcissa worried her lower lip and wrung the hands she had resting in her lap. With another nudge from a surreptitious spell, Rebecca asked, "Is it okay for me to leave the two of you alone to talk?" Narcissa nodded. "Well, then. I’ll come back in half an hour to see how you’re doing, shall I?"

Harry shook her hand. "Thank you, Rebecca. I’ll call if we need you any sooner."

"I’ll have some tea brought to the room."

Once she left, Harry sat down in the chair opposite Narcissa. She wasted no time. "So who am I?"

"Your name is Narcissa Malfoy, nee Black, and you live at Malfoy Manor in Wiltshire, England."

She blinked as she absorbed the information. She mouthed ‘Narcissa’ but nothing he’d said seemed to jog anything. "You say my family hired you?"

He hesitated, not wanting to overload her with too much information, but figured this couldn’t be helped. "Your son did, yes."

Her eyes became glassy. "I have a son?"

"Yes."

Her leg began to bounce and colour flowed to her cheeks. "How old is he? Do I have any other children? Why isn’t he here with you?"

Harry smiled. "He’s your only child. He’s the same age as I am — that would be twenty-five — and his name is Draco." He watched for recognition in her face but saw none. "I came here on my own, because I didn’t want to get his hopes up, if you turned out not to be his mother."

She wrung her hands a bit more before frowning at Harry. "And how can you be sure I am?"

"Because I know you too." Her eyes widened in surprise. "Draco and I went to school together. I’ve met you before."

She visibly relaxed. "So you two were classmates?"

"We went to the same school and we were in the same year, yes, but we weren’t close." No point saying any more than that. "We were in different school houses."

"Ah, I see." She didn’t see, but it was hardly Harry’s place to tell her any more.

The tea arrived then and the young woman who’d brought it busied herself setting it up on the table, taking her time and not-so-subtly watching Harry out of the corner of her eye. He smiled at her and she blushed before bustling out of the room, apparently flustered.

Narcissa grinned. "I think young Marjorie might have her eye on you."

Harry raised his brows. "Oh, really?"

"Indeed." Narcissa poured some milk into her tea and brought the cup up to her mouth. "I’m surprisingly observant for someone who doesn’t know who she is."

Harry grinned. "You were always observant, from what I recall. I think it’s a family trait."

"And here you said you and my son were not friends."

He shrugged. "I’m rather observant myself."

They spent the rest of the time on questions and answers — Harry asking about the facility, the staff and the other residents (per Rebecca, they weren’t called patients), and Narcissa asking about her home, family and friends. As Harry didn’t want to overwhelm her, both because it wasn’t his place and because he didn’t know how she’d react, he answered as vaguely and concisely as possible.

"You’re avoiding my questions," she observed.

He put down his cup. "Not exactly," he explained. "I wasn’t lying when I said Draco and I weren’t friends. We may have interacted from time to time, but we didn’t talk about ourselves or our families. And the only times I met or saw you weren’t social occasions. So what I know is only through that lens and I don’t think I would be doing you much of a service by answering questions I don’t really no the answers to. Draco should be the one to respond."

She narrowed her eyes and stared at him for some time. Even wandless, he feared she could see inside his thoughts, so he enlisted his Occlumency. "I sense that there’s a _lot_ you aren’t telling me, Harry. That there’s a lot more to this."

He smiled. "Like I said, you’re observant. There’s an entire world I’m not telling you about, because it’s not my place."

She put her empty cup onto the table. "Will you come see me again tomorrow?"

"Of course." He wondered how Malfoy would react when he met this stranger in his mother’s body. "I’ll speak to Draco when I get back to my office and we’ll arrange for a time to return. I can fill him in on your condition and see if he can bring some of your things with him, to try to jog your memory."

"Um ..." She starting wringing her hands together again. "Would you be able to come back on your own?"

"I’m sorry?"

"I ... I don’t know that I’m ready to see my _son_." Harry tried to hide his surprise. It didn’t work. "Oh, it’s not what you’re thinking. I want to see him. I _do_. But I’m finding it difficult to accept that I have a child and I have no memory of it. How can I not remember him? I’m his mother!" 

Tears leaked out of her eyes and Harry reached for her hands. "It’s not your fault," he assured her. "Draco won’t blame you."

"But how could you know that?"

"Know what? That it’s not your fault?" She nodded. "Well, you _want_ to regain your memory, don’t you?" She nodded again. "Then it’s not your fault. And as for Draco, he _loves_ you. He wouldn’t have hired me of all people to find you if he didn’t. And I know you love him too. More than anything."

She pulled her hands away and looked at him shrewdly. "But I thought you said you didn’t really know me. How could you possibly know that?"

He sighed. "It’s a long story. A very long story. I will tell you this, though. I witnessed you risk a lot for the sake of your son. I know you love him and I’m convinced you would never do anything to hurt him, including leave without letting him know."

"But —"

He took her hands in his once more. "It’s not my place to say any more. I wish I could, but it just wouldn’t be right."

She let out a defeated sigh and drew her hands back once more. "Fine, then."

"So I can bring Draco to see you?"

She frowned. "No. Not yet. I want to take a few days to try to remember. I want to know my son before I see his face. Can you give me that?"

Harry didn’t like it, but he thought he might understand. He recalled how distraught Hermione had been when she’d gone to Australia to get her parents and they hadn’t recognised her. And she knew exactly what had happened to them, that she had cast the spells to protect them. But it still didn’t make the experience any easier.

"I won’t tell Draco anything before I come see you again tomorrow. You have my word." She relaxed and smiled gratefully at him. "But I can’t promise anything beyond that." She nodded.

*~*~*

> Malfoy,
> 
> Working some leads and will be out tonight and most of the morning and afternoon. Maybe we can meet at my office when you’re done work tomorrow and talk about the case.
> 
> I think we’re looking pretty good on the "Brad" case. Maybe one more instance to solidify the wife’s position. But you’re off the hook tonight. No surveillance, no dresses and no leather pants.
> 
> Harry

He re-read the note and decided it would have to do. He didn’t want to lie to Malfoy’s face, but he’d given Narcissa his word. Best just to avoid him altogether. Not very Gryffindor like, but needs must. Besides, he really did have work to do.

As evening turned to night, guilt built up in Harry. He couldn’t help thinking that if it were his mother, he’d want to know. Right away. And then his imagination started getting the better of him. What if Narcissa wasn’t, in fact, suffering from memory loss? What if she really _had_ left and wanted nothing to do with her old life? And what if she’d played Harry and would be gone by the time he returned?

He replayed the day over and over again in his mind, but reached the same conclusion every time. Narcissa was a confused woman whose anguish over having a son she couldn’t remember was _real_. It had to be.

Not that Harry slept any better knowing that.

*~*~*

"Ah, Harry," Rebecca greeted him. "Jane — I mean Narcissa — has been waiting for you. Marjorie brought a tea service already and set it up in her room."

He smiled. "Sorry I’m late. A meeting I had ran a bit long."

She waved towards Narcissa’s room. "Oh, not to worry. It’s only been ten minutes or so. Perfect for the tea to steep." Harry thanked her and made his way to Narcissa’s room.

The door stood open and Narcissa once again was sat by the window, looking out over the grounds. When he tapped lightly on the door, she turned and greeted him with a soft smile. "I was beginning to wonder if you were coming after all. I think Marjorie was disappointed she missed you."

Harry chuckled. "Sorry. Meeting went late. Came right over when it was done."

She smiled again, motioned for him to take a seat and poured them both a cup of tea. Harry added milk and sugar to his, then got right down to business. "Have you been able to remember anything?"

Her smile faded and she sipped her tea. "No." She blinked and was able to keep the tears from flowing this time. "Nothing."

"I see." Harry hadn’t expected her to remember, particularly if she’d been Obliviated, which he suspected she had been. As wonderful as the Welsh country air was, what she needed now was St Mungo’s. But how to convince her of that without telling her anything? "And have you thought more about Draco?"

"I’ve thought of little else." Her hand shook as she put down her teacup. "Why can’t I remember?"

"There could be many reasons, which I’m sure the medical staff here have told you. But whatever the cause, Draco will want to get you the best care possible."

She scowled. "Do you think there’s something wrong with the care here?"

Harry put down his own cup. "Oh, no. Not at all. Not that I’ve done much research — and I’m certainly not an expert — but what I have read about this facility is all positive. Whoever brought you here was acting on your best interest, I’m sure." When Harry had spoken with Rebecca the previous day, he’d been able to ascertain who’d brought her in — a local Muggle that had run across her at his coffee shop, had struck up a conversation with her and, when he’d discovered her predicament, had offered to help. After some quick investigation, Harry had been able to verify his story and rule him out as anyone that might have been involved in her disappearance. Harry planned to go to the coffee shop today when he left Narcissa and talk to the man himself. "But your family is wealthy and I’m sure they would spare no expense to get you the best care available."

She stared out the window. "Do you have time to go for a walk?"

Harry stood up. "Of course." He held out his hand for her and helped her up. "It’s a beautiful day."

They spent a good half hour walking the grounds, Narcissa telling him about the people who worked there, how she had a love for classical music, and how she felt strangely at home here.

"That’s probably because this looks an awful lot like your house in Wiltshire."

"Oh, have you been there?"

Harry barely held back a shudder. "I have. It’s been in your husband’s family for generations."

They stopped to sit on a bench overlooking an ornate fountain. "And it’s as peaceful and beautiful as this place?"

Harry listened to the sound of the water flowing and coughed. "I don’t know about that," he explained. "I was only there the one time and I didn’t get to see very much of the place. And I was in rather a rush to leave at the time. Still ... I was reminded of it when I came by yesterday. The outside anyway."

"Well, maybe when I get back there, Draco will have you around for a visit, so we can have tea again and you can see it properly."

Harry smiled. He imagined Lucius might have something to say about that, but ... well ... "I’d like that," Harry said. And was surprised that he truly meant it. Gone was the Narcissa Malfoy he’d met all those years ago. This was a woman who — free from the confines of her upbringing and life with Lucius — Harry could enjoy spending an afternoon with. "So does that mean I can bring Draco here tomorrow?"

"I would rather wait, to be honest. Give it some more time. But I sense some urgency from you." Harry nodded. "I know you’re holding back — and I understand, really I do — and I can see that you aren’t going to tell me what I need to know."

"I’m sorry, Narcissa, but I can’t. Draco needs to be the one to tell you, and I think you should have him with you when you find out ... everything. It may be quite a shock."

Narcissa reached for his hand. "It’s a strange thing to not know who you are, to not know where you’re from, where you’ve been, where you belong. This is a lovely place, and the people here are wonderful. But I feel oddly out of place, more than can be explained by the memory loss, I think. But when _you_ showed up yesterday ..." She squeezed his hand. "I felt a kinship with you."

"You did?" This surprised Harry. She hadn’t shown any recognition. "You remembered me?" Why would she remember him, of all people?

She laughed and released his hand. "Oh, no. Nothing like that. More like there was a familiarity about you. Not that I knew you personally, but that we shared something. It’s nothing I can put my finger on, but I just felt that I could trust you."

"Oh." Harry smiled. "I’m glad."

"So, since I trust you, Harry, even though I would prefer to give myself some more time, I will agree to have you bring Draco here tomorrow."

Harry smiled. "I’ll see him later today. We could come tonight."

Narcissa stood up and put her hands on her hips, looking every bit the formidable matriarch once more. "Don’t push it."

He laughed, got up and offered his arm for her to take. "Wouldn’t dream of it."

*~*~*

Harry had just poured himself a cup of tea when a harried looking Malfoy walked in and threw himself onto a chair. "Tell me two things, Potter. One: you do _not_ need me to help with surveillance tonight — I’m knackered; and two: you have some news on my mother’s case."

"Want some tea?" Harry asked. "I just made a pot."

Malfoy sat up. "Tea would be glorious, yes. It’s been a hell of a day."

Harry got him a cup of tea and waited for him to take a sip and put it down. When he leaned back in the chair and let out a deep sigh of exhaustion, Harry said, "No surveillance tonight and I have some news."

He shot back up, alert once more. "You have? Is she okay? Where is she?"

"Whoa, whoa. Relax."

"I can’t _relax,_ Potter. As if you could relax!"

"Fair enough. But I need you to listen, okay?" When he looked ready to argue, Harry added, "She’s fine."

He leaned forward, resting his elbows on Harry’s desk, gripping his cup like a lifeline. "What happened to her?"

"First of all, she’s fine, as I said. Physically. But she has no memory of who she is or anything else, really."

"She was Obliviated?"

Harry nodded. "I think so, but I can’t be sure. She’s at a Muggle care facility."

"Well, we need to get her out of there right now. Get her to Mungo’s. Better yet, get her some private care. I’ll have father call his contacts and —"

"Hold on." Harry held up his hand. "She’s being well taken care of where she is. She seems happy and healthy."

"Wait. You’ve seen her?"

Harry had hoped he’d have more time to explain things before this came up. He ran a hand through his hair. "I had to be sure it was her. I didn’t want to get your hopes up and drag you off to Wales —"

"She’s in Wales?"

Harry sighed. "Can I get a sentence or two out without you interrupting me?"

Malfoy scowled, but nodded. "Go on then."

"Right. She’s at a Muggle care facility in Wales. It’s a manor home not unlike your home. So, even though she doesn’t remember her home or anything else, it’s comforting for her. The people are nice and they care for her well. She likes them."

"And you’ve seen this for yourself?"

Harry nodded. "I have. And I interviewed the Head Nurse. I found out who brought her there, and I met with him this afternoon. And before you ask, no, he had nothing to do with her disappearance. He’s a Muggle that runs a coffee shop. He also didn’t see anyone with her, so that’s a dead end. For now."

"Is that it? Can we go now?"

"Er ..." How to convince Malfoy not to storm the place and drag his mother out?

Malfoy leaned in and glared at Harry. "What do you mean, ‘er’? I want. To see. My mother. NOW!"

Harry sat back in his chair, putting distance between them, and crossed his arms over his chest. "Would you like to continue yelling, or will you listen?"

"What the fuck, Potter? My mother’s been missing for weeks!"

"And she’s fine. One more night won’t harm her."

"Another night? I didn’t agree to that!"

"She’s scared, Malfoy." Harry couldn’t tell him that Narcissa had asked for the night. "She doesn’t know who she is or who you are. She didn’t recognise me and she didn’t react when I told her about you and your father."

He narrowed his eyes menacingly. " _What_ did you tell her?"

"For fuck’s sake, Malfoy, what do you think I told her? That she has a husband and son. That you love her very much and you miss her. That we weren’t friends, but you sought me out to find her." He ran his hands through his hair again. "I told her nothing else. She pressed me for more information, but I told her that it wasn’t my place. I gave her little details, told her the place she’s in reminded me of her home. Told her that her family is wealthy and would want to hire the best care for her. That’s about all."

"You didn’t tell her she’s a witch?"

"Fuck, no! What if that scared her? What if she thought I was crazy? I think that’s the sort of news, when coupled with the strain of her complete memory loss, best delivered by family _and_ with a Healer on hand. Don’t you agree?"

He took a few deep breaths. "I suppose."

"And don’t you think it’d be best to give yourself tonight to think about what you’re going to say to her and how you’re going to say it? And to prepare yourself for the likelihood that she won’t recognise you when you walk in. That won’t be easy."

Malfoy stood up and started pacing and muttering under his breath. After a solid five minutes of that, Harry broke the silence. "If you’re done wearing a path in my carpet, perhaps we could put together a plan. I spoke with Rebecca — she’s the Head Nurse — and she gave me a few ideas about what you might want to bring and how you might want to approach your mother."

"I think I know how to talk to my own mother, Potter."

"But right now she’s _not_ your mother. She has no memory of being anyone’s mother. Or wife. She doesn’t remember her upbringing, her marriage, Voldemort, the war. Nothing. She’s a blank slate. Too much too fast might cause information overload. You need to be careful."

"You’ll pardon me if I think a Healer would be better placed to comment."

"I agree. But in the meantime, take the advice of the experts you have. I’ll help you with that."

They spent the rest of the evening making still copies of photographs and compiling details about family and friends. And Harry was relieved when Draco didn’t suggest bringing Lucius along.

*~*~*

The next day, they arrived to be greeted, once again, by Rebecca. Harry introduced them and told her what they’d planned.

"That sounds very good." She smiled at Malfoy. "We find it goes much more smoothly, for all concerned, when details are introduced gradually. Sometimes it’s one small detail that triggers an influx of memories — and of course that’s what we wish for — but when nothing readily unfolds, the experience becomes traumatic for everyone. The patient gets frustrated because they don’t remember, the family gets impatient when they can’t get through, everyone pushes and then they end up angry with themselves and at each other." She placed a reassuring hand on Malfoy’s arm. "I’m glad you decided to go gently."

He shot Harry a glance, then looked back at Rebecca. "I’ll be honest with you. I wanted to storm in here last night and take her home. Harry here stopped me and made me see reason."

Harry couldn’t bring himself to be smug. "I just want what’s best for Narcissa."

Rebecca smiled. "She’ll be glad to see you again. Go on then."

*~*~*

Narcissa sat in her usual spot by the window as they approached. "Mother?" Malfoy’s voice was barely above a whisper beside him. "Mother, is it really you?" He started to move forward but then stopped himself and waited.

She turned around and looked at Draco, then Harry, then back to Draco. She blinked, no recognition behind her blue eyes, and said, "You must be Draco."

Harry’s heart broke for them both in that moment. He’d known what to expect, but deep down inside, he’d hoped that the sight of Draco would bring everything flooding back. But it wasn’t meant to be. When Draco’s breath hitched, but he didn’t otherwise show his pain, Harry was thankful that he’d explained what had happened to Hermione when she’d retrieved her parents. Still, it was hard to witness.

Malfoy stepped inside then. "Yes, I’m your son, Draco. And I hired Harry here to find you."

"Harry’s a good boy," she said with a smile. "He’s been very nice to me." She turned a mock-glare towards Harry. "Even if he wouldn’t tell me very much." She returned her gaze to her son. "He said that it should come from you." She blinked and turned to look out the window for a moment to compose herself. When she turned back, she stood up. "Well, it’s a beautiful day. Shall we go for a walk?"

Harry offered to leave them to it, but two sets of panicked eyes met his own, so he went along. They walked the grounds and settled at the same fountain when she said, "Okay, tell me everything."

"Narcissa, I don’t think —"

"Nonsense, Harry. You told me _Draco_ must tell me everything. Now he’s here. He can tell me everything."

Draco pulled out his folder and opened it. "Rebecca recommends taking things slowly," he explained. "I will tell you everything, eventually, but how about we take it one step at a time?"

She pursed her lips but nodded. "Very well then."

Draco smiled and passed her a photograph. "This is a picture of you and your sisters and your parents when you were a child." 

They spent the next two hours going through the pictures, Harry getting up and walking away on his own several times to give them privacy. When they’d gone through all the material they’d brought, both Malfoys looked exhausted. Narcissa stood up. "Well, shall we head inside for some tea?"

They made it to Narcissa’s room at the same time Marjorie arrived with the tea service. She blushed when she saw Harry, and scooted in just ahead of them to get it set up. When she was done, Narcissa thanked her.

"Oh, it’s my pleasure," Marjorie said, blushing once more as she looked at Harry. "It’s not everyone that’s lucky enough to get a visitor three days in a row. I’m happy to oblige." And she left.

Harry’s blood went cold when he met Draco’s glare. And then it was gone. 

"I thought I would bring Father along tomorrow and we could bring you home together."

"Your father?"

"Yes." He sipped his tea, then put the cup down. "He and Harry don’t get on very well, so I thought it better to come alone today."

"Oh, so Harry won’t be joining us tomorrow?"

"No, I don’t think so." The glare returned for an instant. "I think it’s better that way." He turned back to his mother with a smile. "After all, he’s completed the job I hired him for, hasn’t he?"

Harry took that as his cue to leave. "I’ll leave the two of you to work out the details then, shall I?" He stood up and took Narcissa’s hand between his two, giving it a squeeze. "You’re in good hands with Draco. But if there is ever anything you need, you can call on me."

"Yes, well, I’m sure she’ll be fine, Potter."

Harry winced inwardly, then kissed Narcissa on the cheek. "I’m glad to have found you. And I’ll do my best to work out what happened. Take care."

She hugged him gently and when she pulled back, her eyes were damp. "Thank you, Harry."

He smiled. "You’re very welcome."

*~*~*

He was in his office for under twenty minutes when Malfoy stormed in. "What the fuck, Potter?"

Harry ran a tired hand through his hair, reached into his cupboard and pulled out two glasses and a bottle of Firewhiskey. Without asking, he poured each of them a triple and slid Malfoy’s across the desk to him. "Are you okay?"

"Of course I’m not okay!" He paced around the office for half a minute before grabbing his glass and shooting back half the contents. "My own mother doesn’t know me!"

Harry sipped from his own glass. "I know. I’m sorry."

"And you kept it from me for THREE DAYS! What the fuck is that about? That makes it —" He did some mental calculations before his eyes narrowed. "You fucking bastard!"

Harry held up his hands. "No, no. You’ve got it all wrong."

"Oh, have I? Then enlighten me, you fucking wanker."

"Two days ago — the day _after_ the club and ... well — I got a hit on some of the notices I sent out. That same day I went to see if it was Narcissa. And it was."

"And you didn’t tell me, why?"

Harry couldn’t tell him. "I knew she didn’t remember anything and — well, I thought she could use a day to think about what I’d told her. To maybe remember something."

Malfoy sipped from his glass and banged it on the desk. "That’s bullshit. You know she’s not just going to recover on her own from an Obliviate. She needs treatment."

" _If_ she’s been Obliviated. We still don’t know that for sure."

He banged a fist on the desk. "Oh, come on. We both know that’s what’s going on here."

"Most likely, yes. But — as I’ve told you before — Hermione’s parents—"

"What the hell do they have to do with anything?"

Harry ran a hand through his hair again. "Just that I’m aware that timing isn’t an issue. If your mother’s memories can be restored, they can be. Another day, week, month, or even year won’t make a difference. She was scared — _is_ scared. I gave her an extra day. I saw her two days ago, then again yesterday. I told her I’d bring you there today and she agreed."

Malfoy finished his drink and stood up. "You should have told me as soon as you found out. I trusted you to find her and you betrayed me."

"Malfoy, I’m sorry."

"Sorry isn’t good enough. Send me your bill and then don’t ever contact me again. We’re done here." And he Disapparated.

Well, that went well.


	4. Epilogue

Five weeks later ...

> Potter,
> 
> My mother wishes for me to extend an invitation to tea at the Manor. Today, three o’clock. And she says to be on time.
> 
> I’ve come to understand that it was at her request you stayed silent on the matter of her location, and that you tried to convince her otherwise. That you insisted she needed to see me sooner rather than later. It appears I was mistaken in my haste to lay blame at your feet.
> 
> I feel it my duty to advise you that my father will also be present, at my mother’s request. By return owl, please advise if you will be attending. 
> 
> I will provide you with an update on her progress over tea, but suffice it to say that she’s coming along. The staff at St Mungo’s were able to restore some of her memories, but full recovery won’t be possible without apprehending the original caster.
> 
> On that note, I would like to extend a request for your services once again. As expected, the Aurors have "no leads" and have been of no help whatsoever in this matter.
> 
> I would be remiss not to point out that I have yet to receive your invoice. While ordinarily it would be unacceptable to resolve financial matters over tea (not that you would be aware of such etiquette), might I suggest that you bring along the paperwork and I will take care of settling the account in short order.
> 
> Awaiting your return owl,  
> DM
> 
> P.S. Should you require further assistance with surveillance activities, I should think we could work that into our new agreement.

Harry scribbled a hasty reply and sent Malfoy’s owl on its way. He looked down at his wrinkled t-shirt and jeans and closed the office. With a grin, he Apparated home. After all, he had a tea to attend. And all sorts of surveillance plans to make.


End file.
